


Dance Me (to the End of Love)

by phdmama



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: A skosh of angst, AU, Also they bone, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, Fluff, Leonard Cohen - Freeform, M/M, Marriage, Niall is the captain of this ship, Proprosals, Rimming, SO MUCH FLUFF, Sappiness, You've been warned, the fluffiest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-01
Updated: 2017-02-01
Packaged: 2018-09-21 08:46:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9540320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phdmama/pseuds/phdmama
Summary: You would think that it's a simple process - you meet, you fall in love, you get married. But when you add one lawyer and one overly-competitive high school teacher to that equation, it's no longer a straight line from beginning to end. Or the story of how a simple proposal becomes a competition where no one loses in the end.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading, and if you feel so inspired, feel free to leave a kudos or a comment, they all make my day brighter!
> 
> Please, as always, these are works of fiction, meant to entertain. Please don’t break the 4th wall or post anywhere else!
> 
> Feel free to come say come say hi on Tumblr! If you enjoyed this, the rest of my stuff can be found here!
> 
> The biggest thanks, hugs and smooches to [awriterwrites](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Awriterwrites/pseuds/Awriterwrites) and [RealityBetterThanFiction](http://archiveofourown.org/users/RealityBetterThanFiction/pseuds/RealityBetterThanFiction) for the beta work and the cheerleading (and seriously, go read all their things!)!

_Show me slowly what I only know the limits of  
_ _Dance me to the end of love_

Leonard Cohen 

**August 2016**

 

**Harry’s POV**

“Marry me.”

The words fly off of Harry’s tongue before he even realizes that he is speaking. Louis is standing at the stove, pouring steaming water from the kettle into his favorite rainbow-striped mug, ranting about...something. Harry isn’t entirely sure what, to be honest. He’s gotten lost in the way the late afternoon summer sun, slanting through the kitchen window is igniting Louis like a lighthouse, leaving the rest of the kitchen shadowed and Harry dazzled beyond all reason. In the aftermath of his impulsive words, silence rings through the room like a bell.

Louis freezes, and stares at Harry. He frowns. “Did you just...what did you just say?”

Harry feels the smile spreading over his face at Louis’s confusion, certainty settling in his gut.

“You heard me.”

At the smirk in his tone, Louis raises one eyebrow.

“As much as it pains me to admit it, Styles, I assumed I must be mistaken, because I _thought_ I heard you ask me to marry you in the middle of my rant about that absolute _cock_ of --”

“You’re not.” Harry knows Louis well enough to know that if he doesn’t stem the tide of upstanding rage right now, he’ll be flooded with another 10 minutes of Louis’s opinions on parents who don’t support their kids, especially their queer kids struggling with anxiety. Not that he doesn’t love a righteously angry Louis. Righteously Angry Louis is hot. All versions of Louis are hot, really, which brings Harry back to the topic at hand.

“You’re not mistaken.” He stalks towards Louis, who backs up without realizing it until he hits the counter, eyes widening as Harry approaches. “You heard me. I said,” and here he dips down to drop a lingering kiss on Louis’s pursed lips, “Marry me.”

It’s not that they’ve never talked about marriage before. They’ve been together for 5 years, meeting during their sophomore summer at Dartmouth. It hadn’t quite been love at first sight, but they’d connected as friends immediately. They’d gotten together 6 months after they’d met, and now here they are. Sure they’re only 23, but they’re finally settling into financial stability, beginning their careers, and Harry cannot imagine anything he wants more than to marry Louis. To be fair, he’s pretty sure that he may have wanted to marry Louis since about his second week of knowing him, but the timing has never seemed quite right.

Louis kisses him back enthusiastically for a moment, but then he pulls away. “Are you serious? That seemed rather spontaneous, even for you.”

Harry gives an abashed grin.”Well, that wasn’t quite how I planned it, but yeah. I love you, Louis. So much.”

Louis rolls his eyes at him. “I know you do, asshole, but c’mon. Don’t you think it deserves a little more...I don’t know, like, romantic _oomph_ than that?”

Offended, Harry draws back. “What are you talking about?! That was plenty romantic! I was just overcome with how lovely you are.” Louis smirks, forcing Harry to continue, “I want to spend the rest of my life with you. That’s romantic! So I asked. Spontaneously! How is that not romantic?”

And then he says it, the words that will come back to haunt him. “What, you think you could do better?”

And it? Is _on_.

Both of Louis’s eyebrows shoot up at that and he pushes Harry away. “Oh no, you did not just challenge to me, did you?” A familiar light is burning in his eyes.

That’s the thing about Louis, and it’s actually one of the things Harry loves so much about him. He’s competitive as shit, and not above cheating here and there to win, but he’s also a good-natured loser, which makes him really fun to engage in any sort of competition.

“Yeah, you know what?” Harry drawls, “I think maybe I just did.”

Louis rubs his hands together. “Oh it is _so on_ , Styles. I’m gonna propose the _shit_ out of you and you’re going to be _blown away_ by my mad matrimonial skills.”

Harry feels his own competitive ire kick in. “ _Objection_. Wait just a goddamn minute. That one didn’t count! Rules weren’t engaged. Stakes weren’t set. _Wagers were not defined, Louis_. If you’re going to design a proposal for me, I’m going to design one for you! That’s only fair!”

Louis narrows his eyes as he contemplates Harry’s argument. Then he nods. “Okay, sustained.” Louis imagines himself the next best thing to a lawyer, what with Harry having gone to law school and all.

“And anyway, how is this even going to work? What do I get if I win?”

Louis stares at him. “You get to marry me, Harry.”

“But what do you get if _you_ win?”

Louis rolls his eyes again. “Honestly, Harry. Didn’t you go to not one, but _two_ Ivy League schools? I’m becoming concerned that their standards are slipping.” Harry bites his tongue to keep from pointing out that Louis had attended those exact same Ivy League schools. “Harry, if _I_ win, _I_ get to marry _you_.”

As Harry stares at him, at a loss for words, Louis grabs his mug of tea, a notepad, and a pen and heads to the table. “Let’s hash this out, babe.”

Seven mugs of tea, a bottle of wine, the last of the peanut butter pretzels, and too many bathroom breaks to count later, they have a final draft:  

 

> **The Great Styles-Tomlinson Propose-Off 1**
> 
> RULES IN NO PARTICULAR ORDER
> 
>   1. All Proposal Experiences (hereafter referred to as PE) will be completed (i.e. marital proposal offered and definitively accepted or rejected) by 1/1/2017, 5:00 pm EST, or whatever local time both participants happen to be in. If participants are not in the same time zone, deadline will be based on EST
>   2. All PE will incur a cost of NO MORE THAN $500, excluding costs for rings and any possible travel arrangements.
>   3. All PE will take place within 50 miles of 6 Vinal Ave #2, Somerville MA 02143.The order for the PE participants will be determined by fair and unbiased coin toss, to be performed by Chef Niall Horan at a date and time TBD.
>   4. Once PE order has been established, each participant in the GSTPO will be assigned one (1) calendar month for planning and execution of the PE. The PE can be performed at any time during that calendar month.
>   5. The entire PE shall not exceed 24 consecutive hours.
>   6. Any and all persons known and unknown to the two participants may be enlisted for help, support, aid and comfort during the GSTPO process.
> 

> 
>          1It had taken 25 minutes alone to decide on the order of their last names alone, finally coming down to a vicious game of lightning rock paper scissors best 3 out of 5 that Harry had won. He always won RPS, because Louis always did scissors, paper, then rock.

Harry pulls the document off the printer, and they each sign it with a flourish. Then Louis glances at the clock.

“ _Shit_. We were supposed to be at the Independent 20 minutes ago.”

They scramble off the couch and pull on their jackets, running out the door.

Later, crowded into the booth at the pub, they explain to the others the events of the afternoon.

Liam looks at them, wide-eyed. “Wait. So, you’re engaged?”

Harry answers, “Not...exactly? Louis didn’t think my proposal was ‘romantic’ enough.”  And everyone at the table, himself included, can hear the pout in his voice, causing more than one of their terrible, terrible friends to laugh at him. “So we’re going to have a contest to see who can do a better proposal for the other.”

Harry sits back as Liam stares at them and then shakes his head. “A proposal competition. Of course you are. I cannot wait to see how this plays out.” Harry remembers that Liam has, over the years, been witness to too many of these interactions between Harry and Louis, some of which have gone well, others which...have not. Only once did it end with Harry at the hospital though. He’d required twelve stitches and had bled all over Liam’s car, so Harry supposes the man has a right to be a bit wary about their antics.

Niall picks up his pint. “So, how’s this all going to work then?”

“Well,” Louis says cheerfully, “we wrote a contract.”

Niall chokes on his ale while Liam mutters, “Oh for fucks sake, of course you did. I cannot believe you two,” so Harry pulls the folded up piece of paper out to show them.

“Hey!” says Niall, “I’m on here! Coin toss, eh? Let’s do this now!” He pulls a silver dollar out of his pocket. “I’ve got me lucky coin here, let’s get it done. Okay, heads, Louis goes first, and tails, Harry goes first. Any objections?” No one protests, and Harry watches as Niall casually flips the coin, heart in his throat. It feels pivotal, like this is the dividing moment between his past and future. His future with Louis. He watches as Niall slap his hand down onto the coin, and everyone is silent.

“Tails!” Niall crows. “Harry goes first!”

The entire table erupts in cheers, and Harry leans in to kiss Louis. “Game on, Tomlinson,” he whispers so that only Louis can hear him. Louis gives him that wicked grin, the same one that Harry fell head over heels in love with so many years ago.

“Game fucking on, Styles.”

 

**October 2016**

 

**Louis’s POV**

Louis loves fall. He loves how it feels like the true, spiritual beginning of the year. He loves preparing his classroom, eagerly awaiting his new students and all the joys and challenges of a new school year. He loves tromping through the leaves on the sidewalk as the entire world turns golden when the sun starts to set and there’s a crisp bite of frost in the air. He loves sweaters, beanies, and gloves and doesn’t sleep well until flannel sheets adorn the bed. Most of all, however, he loves Harry in the fall.

You see, the thing is, Harry is summer. Harry is sun-kissed smiles and green eyes shining. Harry is endless days, and weekend trips to somebody’s lake house; cannon-balling off the dock into the green water with a shout, and bonfires and beer and reggae on the lawn and cookouts and staying up too late telling stories about the stars. Harry is summer, and summer is never glad when fall rolls into town. Louis loves every single season of Harry, but there’s something about a grumpy Harry resisting the inevitability of nature that amuses Louis and warms his heart as well.

“ _Ugh_.” Harry is standing in their front window, staring out at the dark. “I hate how it’s getting dark so early.” He says this every fall.

“It’s not even daylight savings time yet, darling,” Louis says, as he does every fall, not looking up from the paper he is currently trying very hard not to tear to shreds. He understands that these are high school students, but for the love of god, haven’t they ever heard of grammar? Wikipedia? He pauses, and jots a note to himself to go over primary sources again. “You know it’s only going to get worse until Solstice.”

Harry heaves the most dramatic sigh Louis has ever heard, and turns away from the window. It’s a Wednesday, a night they usually spend watching terrible tv, eating take out, and getting caught up on work before the weekend.

After that night at the pub, they’d gone home, and as they’d been settling into bed, Harry had rolled toward Louis and whispered, “How does October sound to you, baby?”

Heart pounding, Louis had whispered back, curling his fingers through Harry’s, “Sounds amazing, darling.”

But here they are, well into October, and Harry has given no sign to Louis of any sort of plan. Louis is frustrated and reluctantly impressed, because normally Harry is the worst secret keeper in the world. He wears his gorgeous, vulnerable heart on his sleeve and every emotion he feels shows in his eyes; Louis loves that about him, and had been counting on that to give him an edge on knowing what was coming. It’s not that Louis doesn’t like surprises, he does. Loves them in fact. But he feels a bit like he’s been on the edge since the beginning of the month, and if he didn’t know his boy as well as he does, he’d wonder if Harry had forgotten the whole thing.

It’s been a busy fall for them, too. Harry had started his new job clerking with Justice Hines at the Massachusetts Supreme Court, and is loving it, but has been working crazy long hours. Louis has been feeling that his second year of teaching at Parker, a charter school in North Cambridge, is a bit easier, but in addition to his classes, he is co-directing the fall production of _Much Ado About Nothing_ with one of his seniors, and writing recommendations for 10 different students for college applications. Needless to say, they’ve barely had time to breathe, let alone spend quality time together, and Louis has wondered more than once if Harry is regretting the bet that they’ve made.

He sighs and puts down the pen, patting the couch next to him. Harry drops onto the cushion and curls himself into Louis’s side, burying his face in Louis’s stomach. “I know,” he says, his voice muffled, “I'm just tired, I guess. I didn’t realize how much work it was going to be, getting adjusted to this clerkship.”

Louis says casually, “Anything else weighing on your mind, darling?” He drops the paper onto the pile on the coffee table and shouts as Harry digs his fingers into his sensitive sides, “Ow, fuck! Harry!” He can’t stop the laughter bubbling out from him.

“I know what you’re trying to do!” By unspoken agreement, neither of them have mentioned the bet, until now. “Patience, Lou. It’s a virtue.”

Louis gives up the pretence. “It’s just...we’re already into late October!”

Harry says mysteriously, “You don’t see everything, baby.” He snakes his hand up under Louis’s shirt, resting his palm over Louis’s heart, tapping gently in rhythm with the beat under his fingers. It’s a familiar gesture that makes Louis smile. Harry looks up at him and says seriously, “Do you trust me, Louis?”

Louis stares down into his familiar green eyes. “Do I trust you? What are you talking about? Of course, I do, Harry, what the hell?” He runs his hands through Harry’s messy curls.

“Well then,” Harry closes his eyes, almost purring under Louis’s fingers, “you’re just going to have to keep trusting me. I still have twelve more days in the month, baby. Anything can happen.”

He gives a self-satisfied smile as Louis sighs grumpily and says, “Fine.”

By the following weekend, Louis feels a bit like he’s going to jump out of his own skin. Harry has continued to keep absolutely mum on any plans he might be making, and Louis is amazed at his fortitude. He can’t help the nervous anticipation he’s been carrying in his stomach since Tuesday, when Harry had said casually on his way out the door to work, “Don’t make any plans for Saturday, okay?” The bastard had then refused to answer any of Louis’s increasingly hysterical texts other than to write back, “WHAT I’M ON THE T I CAN’T HEAR YOU.”

“That’s not even how it WORKS, Harry, “ Louis had texted back grumpily before tossing his phone across the room and screaming into the pillow.

So here he is, coming slowly awake on a Saturday morning, wondering if THIS IS IT. IS TODAY THE DAY? He laughs at himself, hearing the all caps in his head, yawns, and stretches. He realizes that Harry isn’t in the bed next to him, and as he inhales, takes in the scent of coffee and bacon. Harry’s cooking bacon? That’s, well, not all that unusual really, but it’s been awhile since they’ve had a lazy Saturday together.

He ambles out of the bedroom, pretending his heart isn’t in his throat. Their apartment is a variation of a railroad style, where each room opens on to the next, and he has to go through the kitchen to get to the bathroom. Harry is at the stove frying bacon in nothing but an apron and a pair of very small, tight, red underpants. As Louis passes by him, he runs a hand appreciatively over the curve of Harry’s ass, and leans in to press a kiss between Harry’s shoulder blades.

Harry grins over his shoulder. “Morning, babe,” he says cheerfully, as if this isn’t the biggest day in Louis’s life. Well, Louis hopes it will be. “Thought I’d make you some breakfast before I head out.”

Louis stares at him. “Head out? Where are you going?” His heart drops. He wonders all of a sudden if this bet was really a good idea. He worries that maybe he’s built it up so much in his mind that there’s nothing Harry can do that could live up to his expectations. Or maybe it’s not today? He misses the way Harry’s watching him closely, a small smile playing around his lips, and heads into the bathroom to take care of business.

Harry continues as if Louis hasn’t wandered off in the middle of their conversation. “Yeah, I promised Niall I’d help him with a few things.” He pauses, then adds “I’ll be back in time for dinner though. I was thinking we could go to Helmand for date night dinner before going to Niall’s for drinks?”

Niall is the wayward 3rd son of some sort of Irish nobility, as far as Louis understands it--Niall has never been very forthcoming about it all. He’d opened the Independent, a pub and restaurant in Somerville, after they’d all graduated from college, where he was co-chef, co-owner and somehow managed to work the schedule so that he was never cooking on Saturday nights. Instead, he usually chose to play traditional Irish music at the pub with a few friends. Because it was walking distance from Harry and Louis’s place in Union Square, it had become their de facto hangout place, and their friends all knew that pretty much most Saturdays they could be found there, with Harry occasionally singing along with the band.

Disoriented, Louis shrugs. This is not at all how he was expecting this to go. “Um, yeah, okay. I guess I could head over to school for a bit, they’re working on sets today.” He feels like flat champagne, and not even Harry’s tiny underpants can cheer him up at this point.

Seemingly oblivious, Harry just grins and heads back into the bedroom. Louis doesn’t pay him a lot of attention as he’s rummaging around, wandering back and forth, and finally comes back into the kitchen to kiss him good-bye. “I’ll text you later, okay baby?” He gives Louis a gentle kiss, and then cups his chin, turning Louis’s face up so their eyes meet. “Just...just trust me, baby.” And with that, he heads out, leaving Louis moodily crunching the perfectly cooked, crispy bacon, with butterflies in his stomach.

Louis spends the day painting sets at the school and arrives back home in the afternoon, feeling marginally better. He does trust Harry, is the thing, not just with his life, but with his heart and soul as well. If it’s not tonight, that’s really okay, he decides. If this is a regular Saturday night date night, that’s a good thing too. They haven’t had enough time together of late, so spending an evening getting reconnected isn’t the worst idea in the world. He hears his phone go off as he drops his keys into the dish by the door, and pulls it out of his pocket as he hangs his coat up.

“Sorry baby, running a bit later than I thought. Meet you at Helmand at 7? I made a reservation.”

Louis pulls a grumpy face as another text rings through. “Stop making that face. I love you. See you at 7.” Because he can, he spends some time getting the apartment cleaned, and in a fit of optimism, changes the sheets on the bed. Even if he doesn’t get  engaged tonight, he might still get laid.

Louis takes a luxurious shower, helping himself to Harry’s fancy shampoo and body wash that he buys from some lady on Etsy. He shaves, and wanders naked back into the bedroom, wondering what to wear. Helmand is nice, the Independent less so, so Louis compromises on khakis, a long-sleeved blue shirt and his favorite Jerry Garcia tie. He slips on the brogues he’d polished earlier, and fusses with his hair for a moment, feeling oddly nervous, as if this is a first date and not just another night out with his long-term boyfriend. The phone rings, announcing the arrival of his Lyft, so he throws on his black jacket and winds his favorite soft cashmere scarf around his neck to ward off the late October chill. It has a small floral pattern, and Louis loves it. Harry gave it to him for...huh, Louis realizes, he can’t remember which of the many occasions that Harry had deemed gift-worthy over the past five years had produced this scarf, and he smiles at the idea that they’ve had enough of them over the years that they’re starting to blend together.

The Lyft drops him off outside the unassuming concrete building, and he heads in. The woman hosting at the front smiles at him as he hangs up his coat. “I’m meeting someone here, we have a reservation for 7? For Styles, I think?”

She checks the list, and her smile deepens. “Oh yes, come with me, sir. Your date is already here.” She leads him into the back room, and Louis sees Harry stand up as he approaches, and... _oh my_.

Louis’s heart starts to pound because Harry is dressed up. Harry is wearing a black suit that fits him perfectly, with a crisp, white shirt. He’s wearing his own favorite tie. While Louis’s tie has swirls of blue and purple (he’d bought it because the design was called Van Gogh’s tree of life), Harry’s is wildly bright, with pink butterflies, matching the pink of his pocket square and the pale pink enamel on his fingers. He is so perfectly Harry that Louis cannot help the foolish smile that lights up his face.

Harry’s curls are shining around his face, and he looks so happy to see Louis, but a bit nervous too, which only endears Louis further. This boy. This beautiful boy. Suddenly Louis feels all of his worry and anxiety drain away, leaving only excitement. Whatever happens tonight, Louis decides, he’s going to enjoy it and just go with it. Admittedly, that’s never been a strong suit of his, but a guy can try.

Louis approaches Harry, and they just stop for a moment, eyes meeting, and it feels like they’ve jumped into the deep end of the pool, all the noise around them suddenly muffled and quiet. Then Harry grins even more broadly, if that’s possible, and picks up a bouquet of flowers from the table, handing it to Louis, who bursts out laughing. He and Harry had once spent far too much time learning the different meanings of flowers, and this bouquet is sunflowers and tulips, a mix of their favorite blossoms. Sunflowers for adoration, red tulips for a declaration of love, and yellow tulips for a statement of… “Hopelessly in love, Harold?” He raises one eyebrow.

Harry smiles, and everything he feels for Louis is right there, written on his face. “Hopelessly, Lewis.”

They sit and order drinks, and it feels both completely familiar and somehow brand new, all at the same time. Louis realizes that after so many years together, he’s somehow stopped looking at Harry like this. Like he can’t get enough of him. Like he’s the most beautiful person Louis has ever seen, because he is. Like he’s art. Or magic. But tonight, it’s like the scales have been washed from his eyes, and everything is new again. And every time he looks at Harry, Harry is looking right back.

They squabble cheerfully over ordering food, and over who’s going to pay the bill (not that it really matters, since they merged their money years ago). Louis fills Harry in on the set creation, and then asks, “And what did you do with yourself today, love?”

At that, a skittish look crosses Harry’s face, and intrigued, Louis leans in. “Um,” he stutters, “You know, not a lot. I’ll tell you later...after.”

Louis sits back. After? He wants to ask but then reminds himself, he just wants this evening to unfold in whatever way Harry has planned. So he bites his tongue and just smiles.

By the time dinner is over and Harry is signing the credit card slip, Louis’s jitters are back. He’d wondered if Harry would do it during dinner, and then began second-guessing himself, wondering if Harry was going to do it all tonight. Or ever. He feels 16 again, waiting for the cute boy on the soccer team to notice him. Then, Harry trips over nothing as they walk towards the front of the entrance, and Louis laughs, because it’s tradition. He always laughs at Harry when he stumbles, even as he reaches out automatically to keep him from falling. It’s what they do.

Harry just grins and Louis knows he’s rolling his eyes even though he’s not looking back at Louis and says, “Hush, you.” Just like he always does.

They pull on their coats and scarves, and wander out into the chill dark of the night.

“So, what else did you have in mind?” Louis asks, trying to keep the anticipation and anxiety out of his voice.

Harry shrugs casually, “Figured we’d head over to Niall’s.  You know...it’s Saturday.”

Louis says, “Sure, that sounds good. Everyone’s going to wonder why you’re all dressed up though, for a night at the pub.” So sue him, he can’t help pushing just a bit. When is it going to happen?

Harry snickers and as Louis turns away to wave down a cab, he thinks he hears Harry mutter “No one’s going to be wondering anything, Lou.”

When they walk into the pub, it seems like a typical Saturday night. Their friends are already camped out at the big round table in front of the small stage area, and wave them over with happy greetings. Niall is set up on stage with his musician friends, and the music is already well under way. The double doors to the private banquet room are closed with the curtains drawn, and Louis frowns. Niall hadn’t mentioned any private parties tonight. Normally he does, if only to complain that he has more work to do that interferes with his musicking and drinking, as he likes to call it.

Perrie stands up and gives Louis a hug and kiss. “Don’t you look nice, and gorgeous flowers!” She catches sight of Harry and her eyes widen, her mouth moving into a perfect O. “What’s the occasion, boys? Anniversary?”

Louis laughs, “No, that’s New Year’s Eve. I don’t know.” He feels a bit foolish, doesn’t want to share his hopes in case it’s not happening, or Harry changed his mind, or...his thoughts start to swirl a bit, until he feels Harry’s hand on the small of his back, guiding him into a chair, and he relaxes, as Harry blatantly ignores Perrie’s increasingly pointed looks.

Louis is deep in discussion with Liam about the new Marvel movie, when he realizes two things: one, it’s almost 10, which is usually when Niall winds down the music, and two, Harry is nowhere to be found. All of a sudden he sees a flurry of activity on the small stage, where someone is setting up a screen behind the musicians, and someone else is getting a projector hooked up, and wait, what is Harry doing?

All at once, every ounce of anticipation and that fear-excitement combo is back. Louis’s heart is racing and he wipes his hands nervously on his slacks as Niall takes the mic.

“Friends! Romans! Countrymen,” he booms, “Lend me your ears,” and the crowd laughs. “We have one more song for you, and this one comes with a special presentation. Please join me in welcoming my dear friend, Harry, to the stage.” Niall gives a wild grin, his blue eyes sparkling under the lights. “I think you’re going to enjoy this.”

The music starts, first with piano, and then the rest of the musicians join in, and Louis sits bolt upright as he recognizes the tune, something very far from the traditional Celtic music usually played here. This music has a haunting lilt to it, and Louis knows the Greek influence on this song, because he _knows_ this song and. _Oh God._ Harry remembers.

Then, Harry opens his mouth and starts to sing, and Louis is lost.

 _Dance me to your beauty with a burning violin_  
_Dance me through the panic 'til I'm gathered safely in_  
_Lift me like an olive branch and be my homeward dove_  
_Dance me to the end of love_  
_Dance me to the end of love_

Louis feels his eyes fill as he remembers that summer, the first summer they lived together in Hanover in a ratty apartment on North Main Street with their best friends, some of whom are here at the table tonight, years later. He and Harry had both been working at Molly’s Balloon in town, with Louis bartending and Harry waiting tables. They’d spent the summer drowning in each other, and Louis had been on a Leonard Cohen kick for most of July. He remembers sitting out on their roof with Harry, drinking beer and waxing rhapsodically about the power and poetry of Cohen’s lyrics. Especially these lines, he remembers with a gasp that is almost a sob:

 _Let me see your beauty when the witnesses are gone_  
_Let me feel you moving like they do in Babylon_  
_Show me slowly what I only know the limits of_  
_Dance me to the end of love_  
_Dance me to the end of love_

He can feel the room still around him, as people begin to realize that something is happening here. Something out of the ordinary, something unusual for a Saturday night at the local pub. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the banquet room doors open, and a large group of people begin filling out the edges of the room. Somewhere inside of him, he recognizes many of those faces, but he can’t pay attention to that now, can’t focus on anything but the man in front him, continuing the song as Ed’s violin solo trails off.

 _Dance me to the wedding now, dance me on and on_  
_Dance me very tenderly and dance me very long_  
_We're both of us beneath our love, we're both of us above_  
_Dance me to the end of love_  
_Dance me to the end of love_  
  
_Dance me to the children who are asking to be born_  
_Dance me through the curtains that our kisses have outworn_  
_Raise a tent of shelter now, though every thread is torn_  
_Dance me to the end of love_

Louis clasps his hands together and brings them up to cover his mouth, almost undone and Harry hasn’t even started talking yet. He’s not sure he’s going to make it through this without weeping. But then again, if you can’t weep when the love of your life is proposing to you — because there’s no doubt now, that of course that’s what this is, Harry brought him to their favorite place, their home away from home, with their friends and family...to propose — when can you weep? _Shit_ , Louis thinks briefly, _How am I going to top this?_ He lets that thought slide away, because he realizes, as Harry finishes the song, this isn’t about the competition, not now. There will be time for that later.

This is about something else entirely.

 _Dance me to your beauty with a burning violin_  
_Dance me through the panic till I'm gathered safely in_  
_Touch me with your naked hand or touch me with your glove_  
_Dance me to the end of love_  
_Dance me to the end of love_  
_Dance me to the end of love_

As the music winds down, applause fills the room, and Louis can feel the weight of his friends’ eyes on him as Harry approaches the mic. He sees Harry give a signal to Liam, who slips over to the laptop connected to the projector and fires it up.

And then, Harry opens his mouth to speak.

“Louis. My Lou. The day I met you was a really good day.” A picture flashes up on the screen behind hm, and the crowd lets out an _Awww_ , even, Louis thinks, the total strangers who’ve just come into the pub for a drink and have somehow been swept along in the beautiful madness unfolding before them. He stares at the photo and laughs.

The photo is of the two them, sitting next to each other on a rock ledge. They’re young, lanky, their bodies gangly in the way of boys who are on their way to becoming, but are not quite yet, men. They are tanned, and you can see the smattering of freckles across Louis’s nose, eyelashes spiky from the water dripping off both of them. Louis has one arm tossed around Harry’s shoulders, and he’s grinning right at the camera, while Harry’s head is thrown back with laughter. Louis can feel it on his body, suddenly, the press of Harry’s skin, warm and damp under his arm, the sun beating down on their bare skin, the way his heart had leapt and thrilled at making Harry laugh like that, the day they met.

“The thing I remember most,” Harry continues, “Is the way you were just lit up from the inside. I didn’t get it at first, it took me a while to realize what that meant, but even from the very beginning, Louis, I couldn’t take my eyes off you.”

Behind him the slideshow continues, documenting their developing relationship, from their travels in Europe, to photos with friends in their dorm room on campus, to the two of them suited up and smiling bashfully before heading out to their Spring formal.

“The moment I realized I was in love with you was when I got on the train in Venice after our travels through Europe. I was going back to London, and from there to Edinburgh, while you were going on to Padua for your program.”

Louis remembers that moment too. They were “just friends” at that point, though honestly, he knows that he never thought of Harry as “just” a friend; “just” an anything. From the very beginning, he was _everything_. He remembers when he’d taken Harry to the station, and the stab to his heart when he realized that he wasn’t going to see him for 3 months, after being constantly together for the last 6 weeks. He’d tried to cover up his panic with a laugh and a hug, and there’d been a moment where he’d wanted to kiss Harry more than he wanted to breathe, and he remembers that he’d thought maybe Harry would have been okay with it too.

“I got on the train, Louis, and I watched you wave until we were out of sight, and all I could think of was that I hadn’t kissed you goodbye, and I knew. Those weren’t the thoughts a guy has about his best bud. I’ve never told you this, but I turned to the woman sitting next to me and said, ‘I’m in love with him.’ I think I scared her a bit, I was desperate and so sad.”

Louis stares at him. The pub is silent, watching this all unfold. “But then, when we got back to Hanover for New Year’s, after those long months…” Here, all the friends who’d been there for their reunion laugh and Harry grins as well. On the screen behind them, a dark and shaky video plays, showing two figures in the distance running towards each other, colliding with the force of galaxies, and then in the background, Niall's voice suddenly starts shouting "GET IN STYLES! WOOOOO" and then Liam's voice is heard saying, loud and clear, "Finally, _Jesus_ , it took them long enough!" And the bar erupts in laughter.

Harry pauses to let the sound die, and then continues. “That moment when you kissed me back, Louis, that was one of the most amazing moments of my life, and I’ll never forget it, and I knew, even then, that you were it for me. I couldn’t imagine loving anyone more than I loved you in that moment.”

Louis is pretty sure that his grin is about to split his face wide open, and there are already tears spilling down his cheeks, as Harry walks them through his memories.

“But here’s the thing, Lou. Every day since then, I’ve come to love you even more. Every day that I get to be with you, I am so grateful. Even on the hard days, or the days where we’re tired, or cranky, or just not quite connecting. Do you remember our first Thanksgiving together here in Somerville?”

Louis bursts out laughing, and nods as Harry tells the story. “Louis was supposed to be in charge of all the grocery shopping because I was in the middle of a huge paper and he was off that week but he got sick and couldn’t do it, and it turned out nothing was open on Thanksgiving day, when he was finally feeling better, except the Li’l Peach on Highland. So we had doritos, beef jerky and beer for our Thanksgiving dinner, and I’ve never been more thankful for anything in my life.”

Harry continues, “I could tell story after story about how full of color life with Louis is, because I have a million of them. Louis, I love your strength. I love your sense of humor. I love how you surprise me. I love how even after almost 5 years together, I’m learning new things about you, like the fact that you like rotisserie chicken. I just found this out, I had no idea. I love how you know exactly how to get me out of my own head when I’m in a funk, even if I don’t always like how you do it. I love that you let me take care of you, and that you take care of me in ways I don’t even know I need.”

Louis is pretty sure he’s a total mess by now, hands over his mouth and eyes shining as Harry speaks.

“I love that you are in every important memory I have from the last 5 years, and that I can see you in every dream I have for the future. You love me, you encourage me, you support me, and you inspire me every day to be the man that you deserve.”

Harry puts down the microphone, and makes his way over to where Louis is sitting, heart about to break through the walls of his chest it’s hammering so hard. This is it. This is really happening.

Harry reaches into his pocket, pulls out a velvet covered box, and sinks down to one knee as he flips it open.

“Louis, baby. Lou. Please.” His voice breaks. “Will you do me this honor? Will you marry me?”

Louis doesn’t even notice Harry slipping the ring onto his finger as he tumbles from the chair into his arms, and the pub around them erupts into cheers, as he whispers over and over again as Harry kisses him, “yes, yes, yes.”

After what feels like forever, Louis and Harry ease back, identical grins on their faces. “So, did you want to look at the ring?” Harry asks.

Louis laughs, and stares down at the ring on his hand. Unlike Harry, he’s never really been one for jewelry, but this is —

“Oh Harry,” he breathes. “It’s. It’s perfect, baby.” The weight on his finger suggests platinum, and the ring is simple, a heavy wide band that has three small emeralds set in vertically, flush with the surface of the metal. Louis stares at in in awe.

Harry runs a finger over the stones and says, “Past. Present. Future.”

Louis shakes his head. “You are such a fucking sap,” he whispers, knowing Harry can hear him even with the noise all around them. He hears a shout and looks up to see his mother bearing down on him, with Harry’s mother right behind her. Surrounding them are the friends and family that Harry has gathered here to witness this moment. Louis is awestruck by the amount of work and planning Harry has put into this, and the thought again sneaks into his head…. _What the fuck am I going to do?_

The next hour is overwhelming as Louis accepts hug after hug. At some point, Harry takes him aside and says, “Don’t worry too much about seeing everyone, baby, we’re doing a big brunch at Angelo’s tomorrow morning,” and Louis feels a moment of relief.

The thing is, he hasn’t had a second with Harry since the actual proposal, and while he loves that Harry has included their friends and family in this moment, loves how well Harry knows him to know that Louis wouldn’t want it any other way, he’s also pretty eager to get Harry alone. Has been since he saw him at the restaurant in that fucking suit, to be honest. It takes him about fifteen minutes to make his way over to where Harry is surrounded with friends, laughing at some story Niall is telling.

Louis slides into the group next to him, and slips his hand up under Harry’s suit jacket to rest it in the small of his back. He can feel the heat radiating off of him through the slightly damp fabric of his shirt. He can feel the way Harry automatically leans back into his hand, so he slides it down to toy with the waist of Harry’s brilliantly-fitted slacks.

He hears Harry stutter on a word, sees Liam roll his eyes and mutter, “Well, that’s it, we’ve lost Harry.”

Louis leans in to whisper into Harry’s ear, “Want to get out of here?”

Harry turns to look at him, and grins. “ _Definitely_.”

It takes another twenty minutes to collect their coats, say their goodbyes and finalize the morning’s plans. Niall yanks Louis in for a long hug, then pulls back, resting his hands on Louis’s shoulders and looking very serious.

“First thing Monday evening, you and me. Strategy meeting. Haz works late, right? I’ll come over, bring the take out and the whiskey. You’re gonna need it.” With that, he plants a smacking kiss on Louis’s lips, lightly slaps his cheeks twice with both hands like the grandmother he isn’t, and wanders away, leaving Louis a bit dazed.

Louis turns and sees Harry standing by the door, their eyes meeting across the crowded floor, and his heart starts to race.The thing is, after five years, it’s not that he doesn’t find Harry hot any more. He does. It’s just, there’s so much more to Harry, so much more to their history, and to their shared life together. They’ve gotten used to each other, in ways that are good and maybe not so good, Louis muses. Seeing Harry tonight reminds Louis of what it felt like when they first got together. When they’d spend an entire day in bed, touching, kissing, fucking, drowning in each other because they couldn’t imagine any other way to feel more alive.

He sets off across the floor to his boyfriend, no, _fiancé,_ he reminds himself, and feels a thrill that runs straight from his heart to his groin. He stalks through the crowd, Harry’s eyes widening as he approaches.

 

**Harry’s POV**

Harry watches Louis approach, heart hammering in his throat. He’s been a ball of adrenal stress for days now, knowing what was coming, and now that it’s over, he can’t quite believe it. He’s been planning for weeks, and the hardest part has been keeping it from Louis. Harry doesn’t keep anything from Louis, and he’s been struggling with what he knows is unfounded guilt since the day he’d gone to Niall and said “how the hell am I going to do this?”

He and Niall had talked over a number of ideas, everything from taking Louis to a professional sporting event and getting his proposal on the marquee to a hot air balloon ride to a private dinner at home, but Niall had finally said,

“Harry. This is Louis we’re talking about. This boy lives, breathes and bleeds for his family and friends. He’s so proud of you, and loves you so much. All you have to do is just get everyone in a room together and ask him.”

From there, the idea of holding an event at the Independent was born, with the slide show and idea of walking people through their history. When Harry had been going through old photos and texts, he’d remembered Louis’s obsession with Leonard Cohen, and when he’d made the suggestion to Niall of singing, Niall had been thrilled at the idea.

But now. Harry feels like he can breathe easy again for the first time in weeks. The look on Louis’s face when Harry had started singing had almost torn him to pieces. Louis is not someone who is comfortable letting his softer side show that often, even though everyone knows he has the most tender heart out there. But when Harry had been speaking, every ounce of love and vulnerability he felt was right there on his face, and now. Well, Harry’s laid his own heart out on the floor in front of everyone, and now he just wants to get his fiancé, _fiancé_ , holy shit, he just wants get Louis home so he can lay him out and finish showing him how much he means to him.

Louis presses up close against Harry, and says, “Ready to go?” He’s a bit flushed from the swelter of the room, a bit blotchy from the tears and emotion, and he’s never looked more beautiful to Harry.

Harry just nods, and they head out the door. The cool of the evening hits Harry like a bucket of ice water and he shivers. All of a sudden he feels awkward, which is ridiculous. This is Louis. They just got engaged. Well, halfway engaged? All of a sudden he’s not sure.

Without thinking, he blurts out, “Are we engaged now?” The question sounds a bit silly, and he can feel himself blushing as Louis twists his head to stare at him as they wander through Union Square. “I mean, if we’re each going to propose, we’re only halfway there, right? So, are we halfway engaged?”

Louis snorts as he ponders the question and Harry’s weird feeling fades. “I think,” he pronounced after a moment’s thought, “that I am engaged, and you are not.”

“Hey!” That doesn’t seem quite fair to Harry, after all the work he’s put into this. “How come you get to be engaged and I don’t? I’m the one who asked you!”

“Yup,” says Louis confidently, “and I said yes, so I’m the engaged one. You’re just going to have to wait your turn, Harry.”

Harry pouts a bit as they turn up their quiet side street, and Louis starts rummaging in his pocket for his keys. As they make their way up the stairs, Harry starts to feel a bit awkward again in the silence. They leave their shoes, coats and scarves at the door, and enter the dark apartment. Finally, Harry can’t stand it any longer.

“Louis. I just…” He runs a hand through his hair. “Was that okay?”

By the glow of the streetlight shining through the front window, he can see Louis’s startled expression.

“Harry.” Louis reaches up and cups Harry’s face with his hand, and snickers when Harry shivers at the cool touch of his fingers. “Harry, I cannot imagine anything more perfect. That was,” his voice breaks for a moment and Harry feels his own throat thicken, “That was one of the most beautiful moments of my life.” His voice turns rueful and Harry can feel a smile spreading unbidden across his own face. “Have no idea how I’m going to top that, right?” He leans up into Harry’s space and presses a one kiss to his lips, then a second  and then...

The kiss shifts from sweet and gentle to something darker, more potent. Harry winds his arms around Louis, pulling him closer, frustrated suddenly at the fabric separating them. He is aching to be as close to Louis as he can be. He’s used his words, and now he wants to use his body to _show_ Louis, so there can be no doubt, how much he loves him.

Heart in his throat, he slides his hands down to cup Louis’s ass, to pull him flush against his own body. He can barely get the words out. “Lou, baby. Please. Let me. Let me make you feel good tonight. I love you so much.”

Louis tilts his head back a bit and says a bit mindlessly, “Yeah, yes. Of course.” Harry turns Louis and steers him into the bedroom, pulling off his suit jacket as he goes, tossing it onto the dining room chair as they pass through en route to their bedroom. It’s darker in here, adding to the intimate ache Harry feels as he reaches up and loosens Louis’s tie, sliding it off and tossing it aside.

“I’m all sweaty from the bar,” Louis whispers, “You wanna take a shower?”

“Nope,” Harry whispers back, “You know I like you all sweaty, and m’ just gonna mess you up anyway. We can shower later.” He actually hears the click of Louis’s throat as he swallows and grins to himself.

“Tonight's all for you, Lou. You just tell me. You want to decide? Or you want me to take care of you?”

“Jesus,” Louis breathes, and his hands speed up as they unfasten his shirt, which he tosses to the side and then yanks his t-shirt over his head. The thing is, Louis spends a lot of time taking care of other people and being in charge. It’s in his nature. And while that often spills over into their sex life, sometimes, Harry knows, Louis just wants to be led. He wants to let go and trust that Harry is strong enough to be in charge sometimes. Tonight, Harry thinks, is one of those nights, and his intuition is confirmed when Louis flops down onto the bed and says, “Take care of me? _Please_ , baby?”

In the dark, Harry can’t read his expression, but he can hear the vulnerability in Louis’s voice, and he slides onto the bed next to him and murmurs, “I’ve got you, baby. Always.”

And all of a sudden, it hits him again, this is forever. This man is going to be his husband, co-father to their children. His partner, his lover, his life-long family. As he kisses his way down Louis’s chest, hearing the hitch in his breathing, Harry closes his eyes as tears threaten to spill, and thinks, maybe Louis is feeling the same way. Overwhelmed and amazed at how much this actually means.

Harry carefully eases Louis’s pants and underwear down off his hips and feels Louis kick them away. He runs his hands down Louis’s body, loving the feel of the familiar lines under his fingertips. He ignores his own clothes for the moment as he slides down the bed, tracing his tongue over the crest of Louis’s hip, causing him to shudder and moan.

“C’mon, Harry. Fuck,” he hears Louis whisper and grinning to himself, he sets to work. Without warning, he grasps the root of Louis’s firm cock, and sucks just the tip into his mouth at first, running his tongue over and around the velvety skin, reveling in the heft and taste of his man.

He sucks and swallows, pressing a firm hand to Louis’s hip, and pulls off long enough to say, “Stay still, okay babe?”

He can tell Louis is starting to fall apart as he gets louder and louder, chanting “Fuck, fuck, fuck, _Harry_ , oh my god.” Harry works him over, wanting nothing more than for Louis to surrender completely to the pleasure Harry knows he’s giving him. He guesses that Louis has been on edge as long as he himself has, as in an almost disappointingly short time, Louis is gasping out a warning and spilling down his throat. Harry gives a self-satisfied hum as he swallows, and pulls off as he absentmindedly wipes a stray drop of come off of his cheek.

Louis is gasping, his chest heaving as he flings one arm over his eyes. Harry pats him tenderly, and when Louis seems a bit calmer, says, “Turn over, baby, I’m not done with you yet.”

Louis groans, “Jesus, Harry, you’re going to be the death of me,” but, Harry notices, doesn’t waste any time flopping over onto his stomach. “What’s on the agenda now, Styles?”

Harry snorts. “Soon to be Tomlinson-Styles, sir.” He begins kissing his way down Louis’s back, enjoying the taste of salt and Louis and, “Wait a minute, is that my body wash that you gave me so much shit about buying? The lemon lavender one?”

Louis wiggles, obviously unrepentant. “Was trying to make myself smell all pretty for you, baby. You can’t blame a guy for that, can you?”

Harry snorts, and keeps moving down. By the way Louis is beginning to shift so that his ass is starting to rise, Harry is pretty sure they both know where this is going. “Any, err, surprises here I should know about?”

Louis laughs, “You’re the one who told me you like me sweaty. But no, that’s it.” And with that, Harry leans down to begin one of his absolute favorite activities. He knows how emotionally vulnerable it makes Louis feel, so it’s not something they do all that often, but Harry gives thanks to every god he can name that Louis seems not only willing, but as eager for this as Harry is.

Soon, Louis is moaning again as Harry works him open, holding his cheeks spread wide as he presses his eager, wet tongue deep into Louis’s body.

“Shit, shit, SHIT, _baby_ , oh my fucking _god_ ,” Louis’s voice is thick and Harry pauses.

“This okay?” Harry’s voice is hoarse as he pauses his ministrations for a moment.

Harry is struck with the dual sense of total familiarity and absolute newness. He knows Louis’s body as well as his own, and yet, it feels like it did in the beginning, when every thing they did was shrouded in discovery. He knows, would stake his life on the fact, that when he’s in the mood for it, there’s nothing Louis loves more than a tongue in his ass, but all of a sudden, he feels uncertain.

Louis reaches around, grabs one of Harry’s hands and wraps it around his cock, which is so hard that Harry can almost feel the blood pulsing under his fingertips. “Does this answer your question, Harry?”

Harry’s hand tightens involuntarily and Louis moans. “Lou, can I? I want to fuck you.” And that feeling he’d had earlier, that he wants, no needs, to be as close to Louis as he possibly can be, mind, body, and soul, hits him again. “Please, baby, do you want it?”

“Jesus, yes,” Louis answers, pressing back against Harry so he can feel the press of Harry’s erection through the trousers he’s still wearing. “What the fuck? Why are you still dressed, man?”

Harry snorts, and moves away, carefully wriggling out of his clothes, tossing them onto the floor. He roots around in the bedside drawer and finds the bottle of lube, shifting back so he’s pressed front to back against Louis, who’s pushing back against Harry, almost involuntarily, hips moving of their own accord.

It’s been awhile since they’ve done this, between the stresses of work and the demands of life, their sex life hasn’t been particularly inventive of late, lots of utilitarian handjbos and blowjobs, and all of a sudden, Harry’s cock twitches in anticipation of that moment where he gets to press into the heat of Louis’s body. He rolls Louis, who seems almost dazed, onto his back and slides down his body until he’s perfectly situation between his thighs. He opens Louis up, taking his time, teasing him with light sucks and licks on his cock as he works his fingers into Louis, already so wet and eager from Harry’s mouth, spreading him wide for his cock. Jesus, he has to press a hand against his own throbbing erection, willing himself to calm down or this is going to be over way too soon. Harry pulls his fingers out and reaches up to grab a pillow to wedge under Louis’s hips. He slides up Louis’s body, grabs the lube to slick himself up, and prepares to push in.

 

He feels like he’s 18 again, and whispers the thought to Louis. “God, remember our first time? In your dorm room in Topliff where it was 8,000 degrees? I was so overwhelmed by you, Lou, so amazed that I got to be with you like that.”

“Same, baby,” Louis whispers back, and moans as the head of Harry’s cock slowly enters him, “You were so fucking hot, I thought I was going to come immediately.”  His voice shudders and he pants the words out as Harry pushes forward, slow and steady, careful.

Harry laughs at the memory, “No, babe, that was me, remember?” They share a soft snicker at the memory of Harry, so overwhelmed that he’d gotten about two inches in and had come. It had taken Louis about an hour to talk him down from his embarrassment, and when Louis had realized that the main reason Harry was upset was because he’d wanted so much to make it good for him, he wrapped his arms around him and whispered, “This is why I love you, Harry. Don’t worry — we’ve got all the time in the world. We have forever, Harry.”

As Harry presses in, he gasps. “Jesus, Lou. I love you, I love you so fucking much.” He feels like he’s on the verge of tears, and he can tell Louis isn’t doing much better. They move and move, finding their rhythm, and when Harry wraps his hand around Louis, that’s all it takes and he comes again with a sob, and Harry, feeling like there’s nothing else the world he could possibly ever need, follows him over the edge.

 

**November 2016**

 

**Louis’s POV**

As November progresses, Louis is beginning to feel more and more panicked, like there’s a tight elastic band around his chest at all times. The weight of the beautiful ring on his finger is a constant reminder that he has to come up with something perfect for Harry, that he has to do something as _right_ for Harry as the proposal Harry had engineered for him. The ring reminds him that Harry _knows_ him, Harry _understands_ him, and that Harry, that sly Slytherin bastard, used that knowledge to give him the perfect proposal, and he better not fuck this up. Not for the first time, Louis curses his big mouth, and its tendency to write checks his ass can’t always cover.

He says as much to Niall, who is lying sprawled across their big couch, groaning slightly with his hands on his belly in the aftermath of their now-traditional Monday night Proposal Planning Session, or PPS for short. To be fair, their sessions generally include take-out, beer, and the occasional joint, which Niall is taking a hit from right now. Which is to say, they haven’t yet really come up with any sort of concrete plan, and the clock is ticking.

“The clock is ticking, Nialler. _Tick tock tick tock_ ,” Louis intones dully from where he’s lying on the floor, half under the coffee table, which is littered with the remains of their dinner from India Palace.

Niall squints through the smoke that is drifting from his pursed lips. “Louis. Lou. That boy is ass over tea kettle for you. You could just give him a sweet smile and say, ‘You and me, babe, how ‘bout it…’” His voice trails off and then he begins to sing softly, leaving Louis no choice but to throw a pillow at his head. Honestly, this kid.

“How on earth do you run a successful business, Horan? When you’re high, you have the attention span of a _bat_.”

Niall smacks the pillow away, and snickers. “I don’t manage my business high, Lou.”

“No, just the proposal that’s going to determine _the rest of my life, you motherfucker_.”

“Lou, that boy is so easy for you, he’s a sure thing.” Niall struggles to sit up. “Fuck, this couch is a man-eater. How do you ever get off of it and out into the world?”

Louis shrugs. “You have to gather all of your will, and then launch yourself toward the door in one swell foop. Otherwise, you’ll never escape its couch-a-tational pull. Harry found it at Bernie and Phyl’s.”

“Quality, comfort and price, _that’s nice_.” Niall waves his arms feebly and then collapses. “Nope, sorry. Guess I’m just gonna have to spend the night.”

Since he’s spent the last 3 Mondays on this very same couch, Louis is not surprised. “Harry already set out the bedding and a pillow for you, pet,” he says affectionately. “Anyway, c’mon, I’m seriously freaking out. We agreed on December, and it’s like, the rest of November doesn’t even count because of Thanksgiving, and then it’s December next week. Fuck, what am I going to do?”

Niall, whose eyes have lit up at the thought of Thanksgiving (he may be Irish, but he celebrates the American holidays like a motherfucking pro) pauses. “Yeah, okay,” he agrees, “it’s time to get serious here. What we need is…” he pauses dramatically, “ _a plan_.”

Louis stares at him in horrified confusion. “Um, no shit, Sherlock, yes, a plan, that’s what I’ve been saying for the _past month_ and you told me not to worry, that you _had this_.” He can hear the actual panic rising in his voice. “Niall, c’mon. This is…” he runs a frustrated hand through his hair. “This is important.”  He tries to find the right words to convey what he’s feeling. “This is, it’s real life, you know? It matters.”

Niall’s open blue eyes meet his own, and he says with total sincerity, “I know, babe. But I meant it. Harry loves you, man, he fucking adores you, and all he wants, I think all he’s ever wanted, is to marry you, have babies with you, and live happily ever after in motherfucking bliss. All he wants is you, Lou, so no matter what you do, it’s going to be enough.”

Louis rolls his eyes, knowing Niall’s hit the heart of it, that small but deep fear that one of these days, Harry’s going to come to his sense and realize that he could do so much better than Louis. He blusters his way through it. “I know, but I just. He’s…” his voice trails off and he feels his throat thicken, “Niall, he’s everything to me. And I just want him to know that.”

Niall leans forward, “Louis, I’ve known you guys since before you were Harry’n’Lou. You show that boy every day how much you love him, and he does the same for you. Why do you think I’m still single? I’m not gonna settle when I know magic is out there, because I see it every time I’m with you guys. C’mon, you know your boy, Lou. If you could plan the perfect day, what would it be?”

Louis pauses, because that’s it, right? He wants to plan a beautiful day for Harry.

“Well,” he says thoughtfully, “he’s been banging on about this Monet exhibit at the MFA, I could…” his heart begins to race as he actually starts to think concretely about how he’s going to do this. He stares at Niall. “Fuck, Niall. I’m going to ask him to marry me!” His breath comes a little faster as he contemplates this stark reality.

Niall stares back. “Um, Lou. Not to, like spoiler anything, but you are _literally already wearing his ring on your finger and have been for a month_. Is this just occurring to you?” He sounds incredulous and Louis feels a bit defensive.

“I’ve been busy, man! I mean, I’ve had midterms to grade and college recommendations and Twelfth Night and…”

Niall rolls his eyes. “C’mon man, focus. Yes, marriage, forever, ‘til death do us part, yadda yadda yadda. _Think_ , Louis. You know him best. What would he want.”

Louis thinks back to that book Harry made him read their second year of grad school, about their love languages. He’d thought it was a bit stupid until they’d each taken the quiz. Harry’s Love Language was Quality Time, while Louis’s was Acts of Service. Which made total sense, much to his irritation. “He would want…” he says slowly as his mind races with possibility, “He’d want time. My time. He’d want me to plan things I know he’d like.”

And with that, the Plan begins to take shape. Harry’s biggest complaint is that they just do not get enough time together. But, Louis realizes, there’s a break coming up. While *technically* his school is still in session that week before Christmas, Louis’s lesson plans involve no homework or tests at that point (sue him, he’s not a masochist), which means…”What about the 17th, Ni?” He grabs his chromebook and opens it up. “I could get tickets to that show, and reservations in the Square, and I could ask him somewhere in there?”

Niall mumbles softly. To be fair, he’s not really paying that close attention anymore. In fact, he appears to be fast asleep. Without looking too closely at the screen, Louis hits purchase on the MFA website and closes the laptop, glancing over to where Niall is curled up on his side, fast asleep. He rolls out from under the coffee table, stands up and stretches. It’s only 9:30, and Harry usually isn’t home until the 11:00 bus drops him off. Louis tucks a blanket around Niall, checks to make sure his usual 5:00 am alarm is set, and fires off a quick text to Harry.

Lou-Lou: _Hey babe. Niall’s crashed on the couch. I’m going to bed too. Work okay?_

Harriest of Harrys: _It’s all good, babe. I’ll be quiet when I come in! Get some sleep, you’re too stressed!_

He adds the kissy-face emoji which Louis returns in kind, and heads to his bedroom to get ready for bed.

 

**December 15**

 

**Harry’s POV**

Harry wakes up early and thinks, once again, that he understands a bit better now how Louis must have felt through October, and is impressed, once again, at Louis’s self-restraint. The waiting is _killing_ him. It’s not that he’s unsure about the outcome. Given the fact that he’s already proposed, and here he gives himself a somewhat smug mental pat on the back because, anyone would have to admit, his proposal was completely fucking amazing and it made Louis cry, which is not something he can achieve all that often, and Louis has already said yes, so he’s very sure that Louis is going to return the favor.

He’s a sure thing. He knows it, Louis knows it, pretty much everyone knows it, so why doesn’t Louis just get on with it? He frowns, remembering Louis’s muttered conversation with Niall at the pub the other night. He knows he heard the words “New Year’s Eve,” and makes a small pouty face. He really doesn’t want to wait that long, but he knows you can’t rush Louis on anything. He reaches over to pat his boy awake, and frowns when he realizes he’s in the bed alone.

He shivers in the cold morning air of the apartment as he slides out of bed, and reminds himself yet again that they need to get a new timer for the thermostat, as they both hate getting up in the cold, dark of a Massachusetts winter morning. Maybe they can get that done on Saturday. He also needs to go shopping for Louis’s birthday and Christmas presents, and makes a mental note to check on their wrapping paper supplies. He wanders into the kitchen where the kettle is singing merrily on the stove, but there’s no Louis hovering, waiting for the instant the thing boils so he can make his tea. He hears the shower running, and heads into their small bathroom.

“You’re up early, baby,” he says as he pees and then quickly brushes his teeth. He strips down, and pulls back the curtain to hop into the shower with his slightly-startled looking fiancé, “Did I forget an early meeting?”

Louis lets the shower rinse the suds from his face, and his voice is muffled in the spray. “Nah, just had a couple of things to do.” He turns so he’s facing Harry, and, grabbing his shampoo, lathers up. “So, I was thinking…” his voice trails off as he tips his head back to rinse the bubbles away. “Let’s spend some time together on Saturday, just you and me, we’ve both been so busy, it’d be good to reconnect before things get insane next week.”

Harry mentally scans his to-do list and their schedule for the weekend. “That sounds good, I was just thinking of some errands I wanted to run.”

Louis finishes rinsing and opens his eyes, the full force of his gaze hitting Harry as he grins. “Nah, fuck that. No errands, no shopping, no work, just you and me, okay?”

Harry laughs, this is classic Lou. Two weeks before the holidays, almost no shopping accomplished, and Louis is suggesting blowing everything off to hang out. “Sure, Lou, whatever you want to do.” They maneuver around each other in a familiar dance born of years of showering together in tiny spaces, and Harry steps under the spray as Louis moves to the back of the tub, preparing to get out.

Louis spends a few moments presumably drying off, and as he heads to the door, Harry hears him say, “Just leave the planning to me, babe, okay?”

The thought briefly crosses Harry’s mind that maybe Louis is planning something? Then he snorts, reminding himself who this is. Louis is a sucker for Important Dates and Anniversaries. Which is more likely, that Louis would take the opportunity to propose on their official anniversary or that he’d pick a random Saturday in December. He takes a deep breath, reminding himself that he’d asked Louis to hold on and trust him, and that had turned out pretty well. No matter how eager he is to get going with this, and as he thinks of the wedding planning magazines he might already have stashed at the bottom of his sweater drawer, he has to admit that he’s pretty fucking eager, he’s just going to have to wait.

 

**December 17**

 

**Louis’s POV**

Saturday morning finds Louis laying wide awake in the predawn darkness, heart beating a bit too quickly, picturing the events of the day to come. He’s got it all planned - a lazy morning with a big breakfast, tickets to the 2:00 entrance of the Monet show at the MFA, a wander down Newbury Street, home for a rest (i.e., some fucking), and then a nice dinner at La Belle Époque in Harvard Square. He still has to pick up his suit from the cleaners, but he’s got time. It’s all planned, and somewhere in there, he knows that the ring currently hidden in his sock drawer will come out. He’s thought a bit about what he wants to say, and he’s nervous, but confident. It’s all planned; nothing could possibly go wrong. He nods to himself, and climbs out of bed.

30 minutes later, the smoke alarm is shrieking and he hears Harry’s cries of dismay from the bedroom, where he’d been still peacefully sleeping.

“What the fuck?” A rumpled and grumpy Harry appears in the kitchen, where Louis is frantically opening windows and waving a dish towel, trying to clear the smoke from the bacon that he’d set to cooking and then promptly forgotten about as he’d checked his tumblr. “The fuck, Lou?”

Louis keeps waving and says guiltily, “I lost track of what I was doing.” He bites his lip, staring at the blackened lump in the cast iron skillet with despair. “I was going to bring you breakfast in bed.”

Harry climbs up on a chair to turn off the fire alarm, and snickers. “C’mon, babe, isn’t that kind of more my thing than yours?” He turns away, not seeing Louis’s stung expression. Harry scrapes the bacon into the trash, and runs some hot water over the skillet, frowning at the mess. “Shit, this is gonna need to soak for a while. How the hell did you lose track long enough for it to burn?”

Louis runs a hand through his messy hair. So he’s not exactly starting off on his best foot, that’s okay. And well, yes, it’s true that it’s pretty much always Harry making a fantastic breakfast for them, but damnit, he can do this. He rummages in the freezer, first casually and then more thoroughly.

“Shit. I think that was the last of the bacon, baby. I could run over to Market Basket and get more?”

Harry just laughs. “No, don’t bother, we can just have some cereal.” Oblivious, he grabs a couple of bowls and sets them on the table. Heaving a disconsolate sigh, Louis grabs the cereal and sits next to Harry. This is okay, he tells himself, the main event isn’t until this afternoon anyway.

Several hours later, they hop off the E line and head towards the museum. Louis pats his pocket again, where he can feel the folded pages of the tickets he’s printed from the MFA’s website for the show. Harry is looking around curiously. Louis hasn’t told him where they’re headed, but the name of the stop is a bit of a give-away.

“Are we going to the MFA?” Harry asks curiously, and Louis smiles. Harry’s been talking about this show for months, and Louis has to admit, he’s pretty excited about it. All of Monet’s Water Lilies gathered together in one room. “Lou! Did you get tickets to the show? I thought December had been sold out for months!” Louis ignores the frisson of concern that crosses his belly at Harry’s words, as he’d bought the tickets just a few weeks ago, and hadn’t had any trouble.

They approach the entrance, and Louis pulls the pages out, and then freezes. Clearly printed on them is the date Tuesday, January 17, 2017. Oh no. He stops so suddenly that Harry crashes into him, nearly knocking him off his feet.

Harry grabs him by the arm to steady him, “Lou? What’s wrong, baby”

Louis takes a deep breath, disappointment blossoming in his chest. “Um. I just looked. Shit, Harry, I bought tickets for the wrong day. I guess I wasn’t paying too much attention, and these are for Tuesday the 17th in January.”

Harry’s face falls, but then he says, clearly trying to be cheerful, “Well, that’s not a big deal, we can just go in January, right?”

“Fuck,” Louis groans, “That’s the week you’re going to Austin for that conference, remember? And I’m on the NYC trip, it’s the 16th to 19th, remember?”

“Oh.” Louis can hear the disappointment in Harry’s voice.

“But, I’ll see if I can just switch them to a later date,” Louis says hastily, ignoring the printing on the page that says “Due to the popularity of this exhibit, tickets are nonrefundable and not eligible for exchange.” He’ll figure something out. “Um, do you want to go into the museum anyway?” He does his best to sound enthusiastic even though looking at fine art isn’t really his thing. This is for Harry. Today is for Harry, and if Harry wants to wander the MFA, by God, Louis will wander with him and _not_ complain. “I’m so sorry, babe, I really wanted to do this with you.”

But Harry, lovely Harry who is far more easy-going and accommodating than Louis could ever hope to be, if Louis is being honest, just grins and says, “Nah, I don’t need to subject you to that. Isn’t the new Superlux open over in Fenway? Let’s just go over there and see what’s playing?”

Louis runs over the timetable in his head and nods. “Yeah, we can do that, baby. Again, I’m just so sorry.”

Harry pulls him into a quick hug and drops a kiss on his nose, “Babe, it’s not a big deal, we’ll just do it some other time, yeah?” Louis stares at him, wondering if he’s really that oblivious, but Harry just turns away, leading him off towards the movie theater.

After the movie, they tumble out into the late afternoon, where it’s already getting dark. It’s been a warm day, but the air is starting to cool off as the sun sinks below the horizon, and Louis shivers a bit.

He slips his hand into Harry’s as they wander down the sidewalk towards the T stop. “What now?” Harry asks enthusiastically, and gives Louis a guileless smile. Louis narrows his eyes, wondering if Harry knows that today’s the day. He’d been dropping hints for New Year’s Eve, which, to be fair, is their anniversary, but he wasn’t sure if Harry had picked up on them or not.

“If you don’t have anything else planned, I was thinking we could do a little Christmas shopping in Harvard Square, maybe grab some dinner?”

Louis sighs, he doesn’t want to tip his hand, but he needs to get back home so he can get changed. He runs over a couple of different plans, and realizes, this could work. “I need to get home for a bit, I’ve got to finish that recommendation for Kiley. Why don’t you get off at Harvard, I’ll go home and get that done, and then meet you there in a bit?”

Harry just nods his agreement, as he checks something on his phone. “Sure, babe, sounds good.”

Louis kisses Harry as he exits the train at Harvard, and then sits down, fingers drumming anxiously on his legs as he plans the next steps. Okay, so things haven’t really worked out so well for him so far. He glances at his watch and thinks he’s got just enough time to swing by the dry cleaner and pick up his suit, go home and change, grab the ring and head back into the square to meet up with Harry. He can wander them over to Belle Epoque and hopefully it’ll still be early enough that they can get a table quickly. Even if it’s a bit of a wait, they can sit at the bar which overlooks the center of Harvard Square. Louis knows how much Harry loves people watching.

He hops off the train at Porter, and exits with the crowd, making his way up the long escalator. As he walks briskly across the parking lot, he frowns at the lack of lights in the storefront of the dry cleaner. Heart beginning to pound, he moves quickly and when he gets to the store, stares in disbelief. The shop is dark, obviously closed, and when he pulls ineffectual at the locked door, he sees the hand-written sign. “Closed early for Family Party. Sorry for any inconvenience.”

He swears helplessly, and before he can stop himself, mutters, “What the fuck _else_ can go wrong?” A woman passing by gives him an odd look and he realizes perhaps he was a bit louder than he’d intended to be.

He runs a frustrated hand through his hair, running different plans through his head. He finally decides he’ll go home. Even if he couldn’t wear his nice suit, he can at least take a shower, shave, and put on clean clothes. It occurs to him that he never turned his laundry over that morning and just sighs. He’ll see how dinner goes, and maybe he’ll have to regroup. As he heads back to the their apartment, he calls Niall, remembering too late that Niall is at work, but decides to leave a message.

“Niall, if you get this, text me or something. I’m panicking, man. Everything’s going wrong! I don’t know what to do? Call me.”

He hangs up, shoving the phone into his pocket, and takes the stairs two at a time.

He rummages through his drawers, finally finding a decent shirt and tie, and curses when he realizes all of his work pants are in the laundry, and he’s going to have to wear jeans. After showering and shaving so quickly that he leaves himself bleeding in several places, he’s ready to go. He pulls on his outwear, grabs his gloves and scarf, and leaves, shooting Harry a text just as he locks the door.

_Leaving now, meet you by Out of Town News?_

He’s just getting on to the train when he realizes he’s forgotten the ring.

He agonizes for a moment, ignoring the woman who bumps into him when he stops suddenly, who shoves past him muttering, “Learn to walk, asshole,” wondering if he should go home, when his phone pings.

_You almost here? I’m starving!_

He sighs, frustrated anew, and hurries his steps down to the platform, where the train is just pulling away.

When he exits out into the dark of the evening, the first things he sees is Harry, leaning against the news kiosk, checking his phone.

_Look up, babe, ;-)_

He sees Harry’s head whip up and grins as they meet in the middle of the plaza.

He sees Harry frown as he takes in that Louis has showered and changed, and says quickly, “I managed to dump a glass of juice all over me, and figured since I was changing anyway, I’d take a quick rinse. Anything you’re in the mood for?”

He starts walking down Church Street, where he knows the restaurant is, figuring Harry will follow, which he does. But when they approach the location, he stops and stares, his jaw actually dropping. The plate glass windows of the 2nd floor location are entirely covered in brown butcher’s paper, and there are big signs saying “Coming Soon! Flatbread and Ale! Find Us on Facebook!” Harry follows his gaze and says in disappointment, “Aww, Belle Époque closed! Damn, I really wanted to try that some time.”

Louis closed his eyes for a moment, watching the last hope of his plans swirl away into the dark.

 

**Harry’s POV**

Harry is a bit surprised at the look of desolation on Louis’s face as he stares up at the paper-covered windows. He knows Louis’s a bit of a foodie, but is he really that upset that they won’t get to try the fancy French place?

He nudges Louis and says, “Well, no loss, it can’t have been that good anyway, if it’s already closed! Where do you want to eat, babe?”

He sees Louis take a deep breath as if he’s gathering himself back together, and then he turns to Harry with a smile that looks almost forced.

“Wherever you want, babe.” His shoulders slump a bit. “I’m up for anything.” He casts a dour look at the closed restaurant, and they make their way along the street.

Harry runs over the available options in his mind. “How about the Border? I am definitely in the mood for a margarita!”

 

**Louis’s POV**

As they eat their tacos and drink their margaritas, Louis has to force himself to stay focused on what Harry is saying, because really, all he wants to do is crawl under the table and cry. How is it possible that he’s fucked it up this badly? That not one, single thing has gone right from his plans? Now he’s thankful that Harry seems to have bought into the ruse of New Year’s Eve, even though when Niall had suggested it, Louis had rejected that as being “too cliched.” Maybe it’s for the best he even forgot the ring. This way, he can regroup, and he’s got almost 2 weeks to come up with something that will make Harry’s heart melt, something that will _show_ Harry how loved he is, because today sure hasn’t done it.

At one point, even as Louis tries to ignore that little voice whispering in his ear, _fucked it up, don’t deserve this, don’t deserve_ **_him_** , Harry places his hand over Louis’s where it’s lying on the table, and says softly, “This was such a great idea, Louis. It was so nice to spend a day just being together, not worrying about errands and stuff.”

Louis watches Harry’s face, as he chatters away about that craft fair and the amazing wind chimes that he’d seen, that they’re just going to have to get for Gemma, “They’ll be perfect for her back porch, Lou, she’s going to love them,” he’s struck again by that sudden fear, that there’s nothing he can do for Harry that will be good enough, and certainly nothing that will be as meaningful as the proposal Harry had crafted for him, and his heart sinks further down into his chest.

As they emerge from the chaos and light and noise of the restaurant, Harry says lightly, “It’s still pretty early, baby, want to go walk down by the river? It’s not that cold.”

Louis attempts to pull himself out of the pit of despair that he’s landed in. Okay, so he’s not going to propose today, he needs to get his head out of his ass and remember that he’s still getting to spend time with Harry, who is, after all, the love of his life. They wander through the Square and down JFK, and Louis shivers a bit as the wind picks up. They cross Memorial Drive and begin walking through the dark along by the Charles.

And then it begins to rain.

Louis stops dead, and can’t help himself. He begins to laugh, staring up at the dark, cloudy sky, and the rain that’s now really picking up. Harry is watching him with a concerned look, as if he’s become slightly unhinged, and Louis has to admit, he can hear the hysterical tone to his voice as he bends over, clutching his stomach.

“Babe?” Harry says carefully, weighing each word, like if he says the wrong thing, Louis just might go off like a powder keg, “Hey, baby. Are you okay?”

Louis straightens up, hands still pressed to his midriff, and the laughter drains out of him like a burst balloon, sharp and sudden. “I’m not sure…” and to his horror, his voice cracks and his eyes fill.

“Lou. Love, what is it?” Harry’s brow furrows in concern and he steps closer to Louis, resting his hands on Louis’s shoulders as he peers into his face. “Baby, you’re scaring me, what is it? Whatever it is, sweetheart…”

Louis scrubs his hands over his eyes and then meets Harry’s gaze. “It’s just. Today was supposed to go a little differently.”

Confused, Harry stares at him, “What do you mean, we’ve had a great day.”

Louis gathers his thoughts. “We did, baby. It’s always a good day when I get to spend it with you, but this was,” _fuck it_ , he thinks, why not lay it all out? “This was supposed to be _the day_.”

Harry stares at him, confused, and Louis can pinpoint the moment comprehension dawns. “It was?” He whispers, “But, I thought...New Year’s Eve.”

“That was supposed to throw you off, babe. I was being sly.”

Harry grins a bit, because he and Louis have argued on multiple occasions over the years about Louis’s Gryffindor personality, and his inability to really pull off subterfuge.

“But, just. Everything went wrong. I’m so sorry.” Louis heaves a defeated sigh. “Like, I bought the tickets for the wrong day at the MFA, and then the dry cleaners were closed so I couldn’t get my suit, and we were going to have dinner at Belle Époque but it was closed. And...” He closes his eyes in something akin to shame, “I forgot the ring, Harry.”

Louis can tell Harry is attempting to be supportive, but clearly is having trouble suppressing his grin.

“I”m just, I’m so sorry, babe,” he whispers. “I really wanted to make it perfect for you.”

 

**Harry’s POV**

Harry stares at Louis for a long moment, and it hits him, how much this means to Louis, and all of a sudden, all humor deserts him as he looks at the honest disappointment shining in Louis’s blue eyes, and he is overwhelmed with the love he feels for this man.

“Oh, _Louis_.” Louis’s eyes widen at the affection in his voice, “Oh sweetheart, I’m so sorry things didn’t go the way you’d planned.”

“Nothing went the way I’d planned,” Louis mutters grumpily. “Not one goddamn thing.”

“Well,” Harry points out, “That’s not entirely true, right? I mean, we are here together, right? Isn’t that part of your plans?”

Louis nods slowly as Harry continues, “I don’t need fancy, babe, I really, really don’t,”

Louis frowns, “But I wanted to give you that, I know your love language is quality time, and I wanted to show you that I know you as well as you know me. You planned the perfect proposal for me, Harry, and I wanted to do the same for you.”

“Oh darling,” and here Harry’s sure the look on his face is the sappiest it’s ever been, “Louis, first of all, pretty much all time that we just get to be together, that _is_ quality time, baby. And, I don’t want perfect. I don’t _need_ perfect. Perfect doesn’t exist. I want real. I want you, Louis. You’re the realest person I’ve ever known. And you do know me, better than anyone.” His mind races, trying to think of the right words, find the right examples to prove it. Louis’s always had this streak of insecurity. It doesn’t come out often, but when it does, it causes him to doubt so much, to question everything.

“Louis, what’s my favorite kind of cereal?”

Confused, Louis stares at him, “Um, steel cut oatmeal from that bakery, and you like it with bananas, cinnamon and honey, which is revolting.”

“What did I want to be when I was kid?”

Louis is starting to lose that desperate and lost look as he concentrates. “You decided you wanted to be a lawyer when you were twelve, because you wanted to help people. Before that you wanted to be a marine biologist but you’re terrified of the ocean, and when you were three, you wanted to be a race car.”

“What makes me sad?”

“You get sad over poverty and injustice, and killing spiders even though you hate them. You get sad when there’s only one pathetic bunch of grocery store flowers left and you buy them because you feel sorry for them. You get sad at how quickly Ernie and Doris are growing up because we live so far away and only get to see them a couple of times of year.”

Harry closes his eyes briefly against the onslaught of emotion. “And who do I love, more than anyone in the world?”

Louis stares at him, eyes shining.

“Me,” he whispers brokenly, “You love me.”

 

**Louis’s POV**

As his own words echo in his ears, Louis stares at Harry, heart pounding in his chest. “You love me.” The fire-forged steel of conviction in his voice rings between them, and suddenly, none of it matters, not the rain, not the closed restaurants or mis-purchased tickets,not even the lack of ring. None of it matters, because now Louis _understands_. Those things would have been nice, to be sure. But just like Harry had given him what he hadn’t even known he’d needed in a proposal, it’s very clear to him, what Harry wants and needs, which is what Harry has _always_ wanted and needed. Harry wants Louis’s focus, his time, his attention. His love. And Harry _has_ that, has _always_ had that, and will have that for the rest of their lives (and, Louis hopes, for long after that as well). Now, to find the words to make sure _Harry_ understands.

This is the moment.

Louis reaches up and wraps his hands around Harry’s chilled fingers and pulls their entwined hands against his own chest. He squeezes for a moment, and then, taking a deep breath, he drops to one knee, still clutching Harry’s hands between his own, and hears Harry’s sharp intake of breath.

“Harry,” he begins, heedless of the rain pouring down around them, “Harry Edward Styles. You turned my life upside down when we met, and you’ve brought me more love and joy than I ever thought I could experience. You’ve taught me how to love, how to live, and how to be the best man I can be, just by being you. You’ve helped me see who I wanted to become, and how to get there. I know I’m not done yet, and I can’t think of any better way to spend the rest of my life than by your side, learning with you, loving with you, living with you, building a family with you.”

Harry’s tears are mixing with the rain on his cheeks, but his smile is the noonday sun, blinding in its beauty as he shines down at Louis.

“I can’t wait to see the amazing things you do in your life, with your career, and I know you’ll be there right beside me in mine. I can’t wait to watch you hold our children or plant flowers in our garden. I can’t wait to make all the memories of a lifetime with you. And even more, Harry, I can’t wait to watch you walk down the aisle to me so that we can start this next stage of our adventure together, but the only way that can happen is if you say yes.”

He takes a deep breath and then lets the words flow from him like the river beside them. “Harry, you are the greatest joy I’ve known, and I vow to you, I will spend the rest of my life living out the words I can’t wait to pledge to you. For better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health. Please Harry, will you marry me?”

Harry is openly weeping now as he unceremoniously yanks Louis to his feet and pulls him into a kiss that is immediately scorching and deep. It feels like a promise. It feels like forever.

“Yes,” he whispers again and again against Louis’s mouth, “Yes, of course, yes, always yes.”

Louis is vaguely aware of some women cheering in the background as he clings to Harry. After one moment more, they both ease back, though only far enough to give each other room to breathe. Harry is a mess, flushed and shaking, with tears overflowing his shining eyes, and Louis is pretty sure he’s in not much better of a state. They can’t stop grinning at each other, and Harry’s hand moves to curve gently around Louis’s face.

“Does this mean,” Harry’s voice cracks and he clears his throat, smiling impishly, “so I guess this means I’m engaged now too?”

Louis laughs, loud and long, and pulls Harry in for a kiss. “What do you say we go home and get the ring? Make it proper official?”

Harry’s eyes light up as he says, “I don’t know, Lou, that felt pretty fucking official to me, I mean, you made a vow.” He looks delighted as he repeats the words, “A _vow_ , baby.”

Louis wraps an arm around Harry’s waist to start steering him back up to the Square, so they can grab a cab home. “And I meant every single word, darling.”

Harry glances down at him, and Louis is struck again by how beautiful he is, here in the dark and the rain. “I know, Louis. I know you did.”

By the time they’re hanging up their dripping jackets and stumbling into the apartment, they’re both shaking with the cold and Harry’s teeth are chattering. “Sh-sh-shower?” He stammers as they move through the apartment, flipping on lights and leaving a trail of wet clothes as they go.

“Yeah,” Louis replies, “Fuck, I’m cold! Maybe walking down by the river in the pouring rain wasn’t a good idea.”

“You think?” Harry reaches in to flip on the hot water, and then enfolds Louis into his arms, pressing his cold, damp, naked body to Louis’s as they wait for the water to heat up. “But it ended up being pretty great.”

Louis sighs as he leans into Harry. “I am sorry all the cool stuff I had planned out didn’t happen.”

Harry reaches in to check the temperature of the water, and pulls Louis after him into the steamy enclosure. “It’s okay,” he shrugs, “I mean, it sounds like it would have been great, but baby, you know that all I’ve ever wanted was you, right?”

Louis feels his tight muscles start to unlock as the hot water pounds down over him, and gives thanks once more for the amazing water pressure in this apartment. “Yeah, I mean, I guess I do know it a bit better now. Sorry for the freak-out too.”

Harry pauses from where he’s rinsing soap from his body. “Sweetheart,” his voice is gentle, “It was perfect, absolutely perfect. I wouldn’t want it any other way, just you and me.”

Louis opens his eyes, and sees Harry’s face in front of him, earnest and lovely. He reaches out and pulls Harry into a tight embrace, and they hold each other quietly for a moment under the hot water, and all Louis can think is _Thank you, thank you, thank you_. He doesn’t know if he’s thanking Harry or praying to a God he’s not sure exists, but then, the thought is lost as Harry’s hands skim down Louis’s sides and he reaches around to cup them around the curve of Louis’s ass.

No words are necessary now, as their touches become more purposeful, their kisses hungrier. After so many years together, they don’t always take the time to savor one another, to linger over this part of the dance, but tonight, Louis is determined to take his time, so that he can show Harry with every cell of his being, how loved he is, how beautiful he is. He presses Harry gently against the tiled wall, and Harry hisses at the cold touch to his back.

Louis pauses, “Do you want to take this to bedroom, darling?”

Harry shakes his head softly, “Let’s see how long the hot water holds out, huh?”

Louis grins. “I like the way you think, baby. And now, I’m gonna need you to hush up and let me get my mouth on you.”

Harry grins, quirking one eyebrow, and lifts his hands a joking gesture of surrender. “Well, do what you need to do, love.”

As Louis leans in, his breath ghosts over Harry’s neck, making him shiver as he whispers, “That’s _fiancé_ to you, Styles.” Then his mouth lands, and the time for banter is over. Louis works his way down, alternating kisses and nips that leave Harry moaning, his arms hanging lax by his side now, hands opening and closing helplessly as Louis moves lower and lower, finally dropping to his knees.

Louis has given Harry a lot of blow jobs over the years, and he knows what Harry likes, knows how to get him there, and fast. He’s struck again by the feeling he keeps having, that this whole competition has allowed him not only to stop taking Harry for granted — which he has a bit, he knows — but to be reminded of who Harry is, the amazing gift of him and their love together. Not to mention, he’s being reminded of how utterly fucking _hot_ Harry is. Louis gives Harry’s dick an affectionate pat and then, without warning, swallows him down, breathing through his nose as he adjusts to the stretch of Harry in his mouth. Harry lets out a moan that borders on a shout and Louis pauses.

“Shh, remember how everything echoes, you don’t want Christy and Mike upstairs to hear you, do you?”

Harry stutters something almost incoherent, and moans again, and Louis gets back to his task. He takes his time, licking his way up and down Harry’s rigid length, swirling his tongue around the sensitive head of his cock, then sucking him down deeply again.

He can faintly hear Harry over the sound of the water pouring down, and his words sing in Louis’s ears, “Fuck, fuck, Lou, that’s so...SHIT, feels so good, baby, _God_ , I fucking love you so much, look so good on your knees like that, babe, _fuck…_ ” his voice trails off as his hips stutter desperately, and Louis knows he’s close, so he eases back and then pulls off.

Harry stares down at him, hair plastered to his head and eyelashes starfishing out around his green eyes, pupils blown. “What? Why’d you stop, Louis?” His voice is hoarse and his hips are still rocking gently as Louis gets to his feet, ignoring the creaking in his knees.

“Because, my love, I don’t want this to be over yet. I want you to come on my cock.”

  
Harry blinks and nods a bit mindlessly. “Oh, yeah. Yeah.  I — yes.  I...Okay. I can. I want that too.”  He takes a deep breath and swallows audibly, “I can do that.”

Louis strokes his hand down Harry’s cheek, biting back the smile he feels threatening to take over his face at Harry’s babble.  He feels the soft scratch of his evening beard and presses a gentle kiss at the corner of his fiance’s mouth.  He turns off the water, and pulls back the shower curtain. “I know you can, baby. I have faith in us.”

Harry snorts, sounding a bit more like himself, and they quickly dry off.

“C’mon,” Harry calls suddenly, dropping his towel to floor in an entirely un-Harry-like maneuver, “Last one to bed has to suck his own cock!”

Louis shouts in mock outrage and they race each other through the kitchen and into the dark bedroom. As they enter the room, Louis launches himself onto Harry’s back, knocking the two of them onto the bed in a tangle of limbs. They tussle for a moment, and end up with Harry on his back, legs sprawled open as Louis props himself up on his arms over him, and looks down at Harry’s laughing face.

And just like that, the air turns molten again between them, and as Louis lowers his head to kiss Harry, he is aware of every spot on his body where it is touching Harry’s.  Like a live wire just under the surface of his skin, he can feel sparks in his own lips as they press against Harry’s, and Harry’s mouth opens so naturally under his, welcoming him in, the way Harry has from the day they met.

Louis can feel Harry’s cock, which had flagged a bit when they’d moved to the bedroom, stiffening up against him, and soon they’re panting against each other, reveling in the feel of each others’ bodies. Louis once more makes his way slowly down Harry’s long torso, grabbing the lube as he moves. He settles himself down again, and slicks up his fingers, sliding them down between Harry’s legs. As he works Harry open — one finger, then two — he continues to tease Harry with his teeth and tongue, small nips to the laurels on his hips bones, deep sucks and lavish licks the head of his cock, tasting the scent of Harry’s arousal. He’s worshipping Harry the best way he knows how, telling him without words how loved he is, and from the way Harry is writhing on the bed below him, he’s hearing Louis loud and clear.

“You ready, baby? I think you’re ready.” He wipes his hand on the duvet cover and shifts back up to kiss Harry one more time. “You want me to wear a rubber? So we don’t get too messy?”

Harry shakes his head almost frantically as he pulls Louis in for another hot kiss. “No way, baby, I don’t care how messy it gets, I want to feel you, every fucking inch of you, c’mon baby, fuck me now, I’m so fucking close.”

Louis braces himself on one arm and shifts Harry into position, and then, slowly, so achingly slowly, he pushes in. They’re both breathing heavily by the time he’s all the way in, pressed deep into the center of Harry, and they pause for a moment, staring into each other’s eyes.

Then Harry’s face breaks into a blinding smile, and his eyes fill as he whispers, “We’re getting married, Louis,” and Louis feels an answering smile on his own face.

“Fuck, Harry,” he starts to move, slowly first, giving Harry time to get used to the stretch, “I’m gonna marry you, gonna spend the rest of my life as your husband, we’re gonna be a family, have kids,” He thrusts harder and harder, the vision of their future so clear to him as he moves, and Harry meets him thrust for thrust, crying out.

“God, I love you so much, Harry, so fucking much.” He’s close, he can feel it, and he can tell Harry’s almost there too, and goddamnit, he knows how to get his boy there.

“You’re so beautiful, Harry, so fucking pretty, can’t wait to see you all dressed up, fuck, I can’t wait to see you with my ring on your hand — ” And with that, Harry shouts, his back arching as he comes, cock untouched, the force of his orgasm knocking his head back into the pillows as he cries out his release. That’s all it takes, and Louis slams into him one last time, shouting his own release out against Harry’s shoulder.

For a moment, the room is filled only with the sound of their gasping breaths as Louis collapses directly on top of Harry, heedless of the mess between them, who manages to flop one arm around him to hold him close as they recover. After a few minutes, Louis carefully pulls out, and rolls onto his side, cuddling into Harry who immediately snuggles him in close.

“Jesus Christ,” Harry wheezes after a moment, “is that what engaged sex is always going to be like? Because I don’t think I’m in good enough shape to survive that regularly.”

Louis snorts. “You're gonna have to brush up on your cardio, man. Jesus, Harry, that was amazing. You’re so fucking hot.” He plants an affectionate kiss on Harry’s chest and goes to get a warm washcloth to wash them down.

After he finishes cleaning them up, he grins at Harry who is looking remarkably smug. “Thanks for saying yes, baby.”

All of a sudden, it hits him. “Shit!” He leaps up from the bed and dashes to the dresser as Harry watches him quizzically. The confusion fades from Harry’s face as he sees the small velvet box that Louis is pulling from the drawer. His face lights up and he reaches out as Louis approaches him.

“Gimme!”

Louis hands him the box, trying to ignore the sudden stab of anxiety that maybe he’s guessed all wrong, maybe the ring won’t be to Harry’s liking at all, but then he remembers that moment by the river, and his worry fades.

Harry opens the box and his jaw literally drops as he sees the ring. Speechless, he stares at it, then lifts his shimmering gaze to Louis’s face.

“Oh my god, Louis.”

Like the ring on his own finger, this ring is platinum, a hefty weight that Louis knows Harry will feel on his hand. Unlike the simple, plain lines of Louis’s own ring though, this ring is elaborately carved with a beautiful floral line, and set at the heart of it, flush to the surface, is a diamond that glimmers in the light shining in from the living room.

“Is it...do you like it?”

“Oh god,” Harry’s voice is reverent, “It’s, _oh Louis_ , it’s perfect for me. _You’re_ perfect for me.”

Louis sits next to Harry on the bed, and takes the box from him. He pulls the ring out and picks up Harry’s left hand.

“Harry Edward Styles, will you do me this honor?” He slips the ring onto Harry’s finger, and they both laugh when it takes a moment of fumbling to get the ring on, as it sticks at his knuckle. Good, Louis thinks, less chance of it slipping off. “Will you please do me the honor of becoming my husband?”

Harry takes one more look at the ring shimmering on his finger, and then leans in to kiss Louis.

“Yes.”

 

**New Year’s Eve**

 

**Louis’s POV**

As Louis finishes recounting his tale of woe, the faces around the large, round table stare back at him in disbelief and no small amount of amusement. There’s a moment of silence, and then Liam says, “And then it _rained_? That’s just, like that’s some sort of poetic nonsense there, Louis!”

Louis laughs, “Yeah, at that point, I was pretty gutted, I mean, I’d had all these plans, and not one thing had gone like I thought it would. I felt pretty terrible about it actually.”

His friends’ expressions soften in sympathy, and when Harry wraps an arm around him and snuggles him in closer, dropping a kiss on his temple, there’s a collective “Awwww” from the group.

Louis’s eyes meet Harry’s, and they share a small, secret grin, and Louis’s pulse accelerates as he opens his mouth to speak. He catches Niall’s eye, who drops him a quick wink, knowing what’s to come.

“Yeah, so that’s why,” Louis can feel the grin splitting his face, “Harry and I figured it probably wasn’t a good idea to plan too much for a wedding.” He pulls out the license that he and Harry had applied for the Monday after his proposal-gone-awry. “Liam? Pez? We were hoping you’d stand up with us, and be our witnesses. Turns out Nialler here has been ordained for years, so he’s gonna do the honors. Figured we do it now, and then throw a big party out at the lake this summer.”

Every single one of them, except Niall, is staring back at them in total shock, and then Perrie brings one perfectly manicured hand to her mouth as her eyes fill. “Are you serious, guys? You’re getting married here? Tonight?”

Louis smiles as Harry speaks. “Yeah, we just, well, in some ways, it’s almost more a formality, isn’t it? Our families were here for the first engagement,” and at that snickers go around the table, “And actually, our folks said that if we were going to do it, they’d come over from their parties, so, yeah. What do you all say? Want to have a wedding tonight?”

As everyone cheers, Louis quickly texts a thumbs up to their WhatsApp group chat with their respective parents and immediately gets a series of exclamation points in return. He takes a deep breath. It’s a go.

“So,” Liam says, “When are we doing this, then? Right now?”

Niall glances at his watch. “Nope, these sappy fuckers want to say ‘I do’ right around the moment of their first kiss, so we’ve got an hour or so?”

As their friends roll their eyes and laugh, Louis leans in to Harry for a quick kiss. He’s never been more sure of anything in his life than this. It’s really happening.

 

**Harry’s POV**

As the hour ticks by, the butterflies in Harry’s gut start to increase. This is it, it’s really happening. He and Louis are getting married tonight, in about, shit, 5 minutes. He sees the band wrapping up their set, and Niall grabbing his binder and getting up to head onto the small stage. He sees his parents and his almost-in-laws (holy shit) entering the room and walking towards them. He turns and looks at Louis, and the noise in the room around them fades away as their eyes lock. And all of a sudden, his nerves are gone as Louis smiles at him.

At the front of the room, Niall clears his throat into the mic and starts to speak, his Irish accent stronger than ever after a couple of pints.

“Now, my friends, I’d like to take a moment of your time. Here at the Independent, we’re hosting a special New Year’s Eve event, not advertised.”

Harry can see the looks of confusion on the faces of the patrons as Niall continues. “I’d like to call some very special people to the stage now.”

That’s it, that’s their cue. He squeezes Louis’s hand, and then they, along with Liam and Perrie, walk up on the stage and take their places. Niall is standing with his back to the crowd, and has the microphone. He and Louis stand side by side, with Liam to Harry’s right and Perrie to Louis’s left.

As he stares at Niall’s open, shining face, and then beyond him out to the crowd, his dearest friends and his family (not to mention a whole bunch of total strangers), all reflecting the same love and joy back to him, it hits him - this isn't a formality, not in the slightest. Standing up in front of the people who love them the most, who have witnessed and supported their relationship from the very beginning, he is about to declare his love for Louis and his intention to make this man his family, his partner for the rest of his life. There’s absolutely nothing about this moment that is insignificant or purely ceremonial, and he has a fleeting sense of panic, what if this changes everything? What if he can’t uphold his end of the bargain?

But then, as Niall begins to speak, Harry understands. This will change both nothing and _everything_. You can’t keep the promise that you never make, and all of a sudden, his heart is pounding in excitement rather than fear, because this is it. This is the beginning of the next part of their lives together, and there’s nothing he wants more now, in this moment, than to pledge the rest of his life to this man standing beside him, to promise to love him for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, as long as they both shall live. He looks at Louis and then back to Niall, and opens his mouth.

“I do.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this, a comment or kudos would mean the world to me!
> 
> [Here](http://phd-mama.tumblr.com/post/156670548768/dance-me-to-the-end-of-love) is the Tumblr post if you cared to reblog it! 
> 
> THANK YOU! I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!


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